


Won't Somebody Ask Me

by primreceded



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-31
Updated: 2010-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-15 22:59:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/532722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/primreceded/pseuds/primreceded





	Won't Somebody Ask Me

**Title:** Won't Somebody Ask Me  
 **Rating:** pg13  
 **Fandom:** Supernatural  
 **Disclaimer:** All characters, recognizable settings and or themes belong to Eric Kripke, the CW, and others. I am in no way earning money or other profit from this fanfic.  
 **Char/Pair:** Dean/Sam  
 **Prompt:** Dance Committee @ [](http://www.insanejournal.com/users/hs_bingo/profile)[**hs_bingo**](http://www.insanejournal.com/users/hs_bingo/), table [here](http://buyo105.insanejournal.com/705.html#cutid4)  
 **Spoilers:** None, pre-series  
 **Warnings:** Language, established pairing  
 **W/C:** 1,117  
 **A/N:** Uh...

“I’m trying really hard not to laugh at you here, Sam.”

Sam groans and covers his face with his pillow, as much to try and smother himself as blocking out Dean’s stupid grin. He’d known how his brother would react and had attempted to keep it from him as long as he could. But when Dean came home early from work to an empty house and Sam had seen the frantic look in his eye when he’d finally gotten there himself, well it was either tell the truth or have Dean beat the shit out of him.

“I hate you,” Sam mumbles, barely audible from beneath the pillow.

“No but seriously, Sam,” Dean grabs the pillow and tugs it away from Sam’s clenching fingers. Still grinning.

“Look, it wasn’t exactly my first choice, okay? But every guidance counselor I’ve ever been to say that extracurricular activities look good on college applications, and since I started here so late there was nothing left. I _had_ to.”

“Wait,” Dean says, face serious. “You’re telling me you _volunteered_ to work on the _dance committee_ and you didn’t even do it to impress a chick?”

“Not everything is about girls, Dean,” Sam says as he stands and walks from the room, smiling at the gasp that escapes his brother.

“What happened to the boy I raised?” Dean wails woefully behind him as the door slams shut.

\---

“You have glitter in your hair,” Dean starts as soon as Sam’s shaggy head comes into view of the Buick their dad left them with. It’s not quite the Impala, but it gets the job done and keeps Dean busy while Sam’s at school. He reaches out of the driver’s window to mess with the mop but Sam ducks out of the way.

“Fuck you.”

“Aw, now Sammy, that’s no way to ask a girl to Prom.”

“It’s not Prom, Dean, it’s homecoming,” Sam corrects, buckling himself into the passenger seat. “But thanks for finally admitting you’re the chick in this relationship.”

“Whatever,” Dean mumbles, clearly beaten. “At least I don’t know the difference between Prom and homecoming.”

They pick up a pizza on the way home, Friday night and Dean doesn’t feel like cooking. He dishes it up in front of the television with some soda while Sam stows his homework in the bedroom for later, good little geek that he is.

When Sam comes back they eat and watch some old action flick they’ve both seen too many times between them, Dean quoting dialogue when he remembers, trying to get Sam to roll his eyes as many times as possible.

It’s nice, Dean has to admit. Peaceful. And while he loves his father and doesn’t wish the man any harm, Dean can’t help but admit to himself that he likes it best when the older man and Sam aren’t at each other’s throats. Of course he’d prefer it if the two of them could get along while in the same room with each other, but he’ll take what he can get for now.

Plus it makes it easier for him to get into Sam’s pants.

“So when is this dance anyway?” Dean asks when the movie goes to commercial.

“Started 'bout a half hour ago,” Sam mumbles behind a mouthful of cheese. Which, gross.

“What? And you didn’t go?”

“Why would I want to go? I know what it looks like.”

“Yeah but Sam,” Dean says, turning on the couch to face his brother. “You busted your ass on that committee, you should at least enjoy the payoff.”

“Not really, they mostly just had me hang up the tall shit they couldn’t reach,” Sam tosses his garbage into the pizza box and wipes his mouth before standing to change the channel on the television.

“We probably didn’t even win so it’ll just be a bunch of football players moping into their punch. It’s not a big deal, Dean.”

“No big deal? Sam, homecoming is an important milestone in every young man’s life.”

“You didn’t even know what it was two hours ago!” Sam huffs a laugh as he stands next to the couch, bitch-face firmly in place.

“Completely besides the point.”

“You just think the cheerleaders’ll still be in their uniforms.”

“I am wounded, Sam, honestly,” Dean says, standing too, and gathering the empty pizza box and soda cans to throw in the trash. “You should’ve told me sooner there’d be cheerleaders. Now go brush your hair, you look ridiculous.”

\---

“You know,” Dean starts fifteen minutes later when they’re standing in the school gym, a sullen Sam by his side. “I really like the color scheme you chose, Sam. They go great together.”

“First, those are the _school_ colors, Dean. And two, I pretty much hate everything about you,” Sam hisses. “Seriously. Hide your weapons.”

Dean ignores him, choosing to instead drag Sam over to the snack table on the other side of the gymnasium. It’s piled full of chips and cookies and Sam sees Dean’s face light up. His brother pours himself a cup of punch before slipping his flask from beneath his jacket, not at all subtle. Sam just rolls his eyes as his brother grins at him before taking the cup and drinking from it.

Dean gets asked to dance no less than fifteen times in the forty minutes that Dean forces him to remain there. By the last one Sam’s found himself sequestered between two dueling band geeks arguing over God only knows what and he just wants to _go_ before he does something to them he’ll regret.

Dean wanders over to him after the song ends, grinning and sweaty and Sam jumps to his feet and grabs his brother by the sleeve, dragging him away.

“Are you done? You came, you saw, I’m officially humiliated. Can we go home now?” Sam knows he’s whining, but he doesn’t really care.

“Aw, but we didn’t even get our picture taken yet.”

“ _Dean_.”

“Fine, fine,” Dean says, hands held placatingly in front of him. “Let’s go, Samantha.”

Sam ignores the nickname in favor of beating it out of the gym doors and stepping into the crisp autumn air, steps hurried and long as he heads to the car.

“Hey,” Dean calls and Sam looks at him over the roof of the car. His brother’s cheeks are flushed from the dancing and alcohol, lips spit-slick and swollen from giving up on the punch and going straight for the flask.

He swallows hard and licks his own lips, voice affected when he answers, “What?”

“You know since I asked you to Prom that means you have to put out, right?”

Sam doesn’t bother correcting him as he hurries into the back seat.


End file.
